Frozen Conquest
by Aragorns
Summary: Three months after the events of Frozen, Hans summons an army from another world... however... things go very wrong very quickly. Can Arendelle stand against this otherworldly Horde? Or will the Fjord Kingdom burn? Rated T for violence.
1. Summoning

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Frozen or Warcraft; both belong to Disney and Blizzard respectively.**

**AUTHORS NOTE: This is not an ElsaxArthas story set in Azeroth, so if you wanted that, you've come to the wrong place.**

"How long do we have to stay here? The men and I are frozen…" Complained the captain of the 3rd division, to which he was met with a sigh. It was dusk, but the sky was already completely dark and the howling wind cut to the bone. There were three divisions working on building what appeared to be a gate of some sort, made entirely out of the bluish-gray stone of the mountain and solid ice, with a fourth division mining and bringing in the supplies. These were all the divisions under the control of Prince Hans Westergard of the Southern Isles, 13th in line for the throne.

As you might've guessed, being 13th in line for the throne means that unless all of his brothers conveniently died, he has no chance for his own throne. This he knew. His original plan had been to marry into the throne somewhere else and tried his hand in the fjord kingdom of Arendelle, only for his plans and true colours to be exposed by the princess, the queen, a guy who sells ice and a living snowman. As punishment he was not only forbidden to marry anyone ever, but any lands he held were stripped away from him, as well as all of his power and he was imprisoned for a month.

After that, Hans became bitter towards his brothers and father but upon discovering that he still had men loyal to him, he took them away and devised a plan to overthrow his family and take the Southern Isles for himself. He knew that he could never hope to fight his 12 older brothers and his father with his own loyal troops, as they were vastly outnumbered… however, Hans came across a book that told of the secrets to portals and other worlds. Although the book, he knew, was not native to the Southern Isles, it was written in a language he could read, so he took the book and his men and lead them to their construction site.

As you might imagine, Hans knew better than to build the portal on the Southern Isles themselves, as that would be too easily discovered. So, with this in mind, Hans took his men to build the portal in the North Mountain, in Arendelle. He intended to use this portal to summon an army through from another world to fight for him… and he would test this otherworldly army on Arendelle.

Hans looked at the captain of the 3rd division. "We stay here until the portal is complete and I have my army," Hans told him quite plainly, "now return to your post."

"Yes sir." And without another word the captain returned to his division and got his men working double time.

Hans had had his men begin construction of the portal near Elsa's former Ice Palace, though it was on the other side of the ravine. Hans was surprised to see that the bridge was still there and indeed the ice palace itself.

Hans held the book to his chest. It had a red cover that was old and worn and there was still-readable text on the front cover that read _"The Book of Medivh"_

It was this book that had taught Hans about portals and other worlds and about the many creatures in these other worlds; the most interesting of which had been given the most detail.

The orcs; brutal, fearsome, unparalleled in their ferocity and cunning, laying waste to all enemies who got in their path and powered by demonic bloodlust.

Perfect.

The portal they were building was made out of stone mined from the North Mountain itself and was shaped as a fifty foot tall arch encircled by towering pillars of stone, just as depicted in the book that had made all this possible. Just as Hans was reflecting on this, a soldier came up to him, "sire, the portal is almost complete and we have captured the trolls."

Ah, of course, the trolls. Hans had one major problem with this plan; none of his men, or indeed anyone on the Southern Isles, knew how to use magic. However, completely by chance, Hans's men had come across mythical trolls, and although they hadn't caught them then and there, they had been pursuing them ever since. Now, at last, they had the trolls with the necessary magic to activate their portal and just as the portal was being finished, too.

Everything was going perfectly.

"Now," Began Hans, clasping his hands together. "I need you trolls to activate this portal, or else…" He left the threat to imagination, and the effect worked, because the trolls gulped.

"Alright… just… don't hurt us…" Said the eldest troll out of the three they'd captured, and he lumbered over to the portal. Hans then began to instruct him. "You begin your magic whilst I recite from the book… the words should do the rest."

Hans opened his precious _Book of Medivh_ and turned the pages until he reached what he was looking for, and then he began to recite.

"_Azhir uval nutarus," _As he uttered the words, the troll began to channel his magic as the soldiers gathered around.  
_"Azhir mudas ethanol," _The clouds above the portal began to swirl, turning blood red.  
_"Mok'ra, lak'tuk! Kagh, Mag'har! Gar'mak, gol'kosh!"  
_They felt the ground shake beneath their feet and many of them gasped and the troll's magic turned from green to red, and began to pour into the portal, physically draining the troll.  
Hans just kept on reciting.  
_"Lok-Narash! Katra zil shukil!"  
_Red lightning started to flash around the portal and the soldiers who had gathered started to back away, but Hans just kept reading.  
_"Aranal, caer Ma'nari! Esarus thar no'Darador! Belanora mordanos nenaar ila mornu farlos kada!"_

Deafening silence followed… and then red lightning struck the portal, a rift opened in the middle o fit and through the rift came what appeared to be a man, except he was dressed in a red hood and leather armour, bound by chains and plate. His skin was as gray as rock and his eyes glowed yellow, and from his back sprouted two demonic bat-like wings, both of which were as tall as he was.

On one side of him was a massive human-looking creature, taller than any man could be, obese but massively built, it's skin was a yellowish brown and was adorned with black, arcane tattoos. The strangest part of the creature was the head – there was two of them. One head had a single eye that glowed purple and the rest of the head was covered by a purple hood. The second head should've had two eyes, but half of the head was covered by gold plate. The visible eye on the second head also glowed purple, but this head also had a horn coming out from it naturally.

On the other side of the demonically influenced man stood what could only be one of the famous Orcs that Hans had built the portal to summon through. This Orc was tall – at least 7'6", almost as tall as the two-headed creature – and his skin was a healthy green. His hair was dark ginger and had gray streaks running through it, signifying age. Despite the apparent age of the orc, he stood up straight and was very well built. The Orc did not flinch despite the fact that he happened to be lacking in any sort of clothing on his torso, with only clothing on his leggings; even this appeared to be thick brown fur hide, he was also lacking in shoes. The one defining feature about this orc was his eyes – one was red, and the other was… missing. It was just a hollow hole in his head.

Hans grinned and bowed before the three. "Welcome to our world. I trust you wish to know why you're here." Hans started, but before he could continue, the figure in the middle of the three with the bat wings cut him off.  
"We know why we're here…"  
Upon hearing the voice of the apparent leader, a chill ran down Hans's spine, which he knew wasn't because of the cold of the North Mountain.  
"And you have served us well… but you are of no further use."  
The half-demon half-man's yellow eyes turned to the two-headed creature. "Finish it."  
The creature's two heads grinned simultaneously and it stepped towards Hans, who seemed unable to do little more but fall on his back and attempt to scrabble away as the creature lifted a massive wooden club.  
"WE _SMASH_ YOU!" The two heads said in unison, grinning down at Hans.  
That was the last thing Hans ever saw before the club came down on him, turning him into a puddle of red, oozing blood, broken bones and spattered guts. The skin of the recently deceased 13th prince of the Southern Isles was now a decoration for the club of the two headed creature, who just grinned at the cowering soldiers.

The old Orc then unclipped a horn from his belt and raised it to his lips, before blowing loudly with it, the loud noise of the war horn able to be heard even in the confines of Arendelle's castle.

At the sound of this horn, hundreds – no, _thousands _– of Orcs poured through the portal; green, red and gray they came, followed by more creatures that looked like the two-headed one, except some of them had only one head rather than two.

None of the divisions, battalions or legions that Hans had gathered on that mountain lived.

By the time the massacre was done with, the snow of the mountain had turned from white to red, and the leader of this savage Horde did not seem to care one bit. "Warchief Teron, we can't find any of these new humans left on this mountain." Reported one of the Orcs to his Warchief, kneeling before Teron for fear that if he did not he would be ended.

Teron Gorefiend looked at the Orc, then at a seemingly random cloud that wandered surprisingly close to the ground and mountain. It must've been the densest cloud that could exist, as they could see it clearly and nothing beyond it or through it. The Orc followed his master's gaze. "Do you know what's so important about that cloud?" Asked Teron to the mere grunt, who did not know the answer.  
"Err… I don't know." Came the unintelligent but honest answer from the poor and confused Orc.

"That… is not a normal cloud." Stated Teron, who proceeded to wave his hand in an arcane gesture; a red flash of lightning tore through the cloud, and the immense power caused the sky to clear so that the moon and stars were exceedingly visible and their light shone brightly.

Teron grinned.

"It was a shield."

Where the immensely thick cloud had once been now stood a beautiful palace made entirely of ice. The architecture reminded Teron greatly of the Violet Citadel in the human city of Dalaran that they had failed to conquer, but that was another leader, another world entirely…

Here they would not fail.

"Tell the Clans that we have our new base of operations. This is our Blackrock Mountain on this world."

_Meanwhile…_

Queen Elsa awoke abruptly that night, breathing heavily. "Just a dream… just a dream…" she lay back down on the overtly comfortable bed and recalled the dream.

It had seemed so real… and it was more of a nightmare. She had dreamt that she had frozen everyone and everything she ever cared about.  
Anna, Sven, Kristoff, all of Arendelle was frozen…  
she'd lost control again…

She was brought out of her thoughts by the loudest noise she'd ever heard. It was a noise she could only compare to ancient Norwegian Viking war-horn, both beautiful and terrible, and very, _very _loud.

That was when a guard entered her room. "Queen Elsa, did you—"  
"Yes," she said, knowing exactly what this was about, "it sounded like… it came from the North Mountain." She stated, rising from her bed and onto the floor, using her magic to dress herself in her usual blue robes.

"Send a dispatch of scouts to the North Mountain… I didn't like the sound of that at all."

The guard nodded and ran out to prepare a squad of scouts. Elsa shivered.

That was not something she did very often.


	2. Rise

**DISCLAIMER: Do not own Warcraft or Frozen, they're owned by Blizzard and Disney respectively, etc.**

After years of wanting to spend time with her sister, the one time that Queen Elsa sends someone to summon her to her chambers, Anna doesn't want to go.

As she opens the door to her sister's room, she reflects on all the times this door has been locked to her. "Queen Elsa?" She asked almost timidly as she peeked into the room.

"Its fine, Anna, we are still sisters." Elsa said, chuckling a little.

"Right, yeah, sorry, it's just, you know," Anna began to babble awkwardly as she entered the room. It hadn't changed much since they were kids, "having a sister as Queen is still a bit, well, weird." Anna admitted quite hastily.

The nerves left the room when they both laughed together, and Elsa's chambers were filled with the warmth and familiarity shared between two sisters. However, when Elsa's smile dropped, Anna knew that Elsa had called her for some serious business; and Anna suspected that it had something to do with the sound that had been heard that night, at the hours of twilight.

The horn had been heard through all of Arendelle; a beautiful yet terrible noise that had not been heard in the fjord since the days of the Vikings.

"Do you know what that horn means, Anna?" Elsa asked in a calm but stern voice.

"Uh… its hunting season…?" Anna hesitantly suggested.

Elsa sighed. "That was a war horn, Anna. And I pray that that war horn was blown without the knowledge of what it signified."

Anna nodded, agreeing with the statement, but she was also worried about her sister. Though Elsa did always have the gates open, and she turned the courtyard into an ice skating paradise every Saturday, she had been becoming a bit more stern and concise since becoming Queen properly.  
Nowadays she rarely spoke unless she needed too.

Anna was worried her sister was closing herself off again.

"So… what do we do?" Anna asked her sister, wondering if the situation was really as dire as her sister made it out to be.

"We will send a group of people to investigate the North Mountain and see if there is anyone there. If not, then they will return and we will assume whoever blew the horn has moved on." Elsa responded, and Anna realised that Elsa has been talking about this with their parents' faithful servant, Kai, who had become the head servant and an advisor to Elsa.

"So… what did you need me for?" Anna asked, wondering what her sister could've wanted to call her in for.

"I… wanted to inform you…" Elsa began, somewhat hesitantly.

"What is it?" Anna asked her sister. "I'm sure it's not that bad." She reassured the Queen, smiling at her.

"We... made Kristoff leader of the scouting group…" Elsa told Anna calmly, masking her fear of upsetting her sister.

Instead, Anna just smiled.

"That's great! It's good to know that he's doing more for Arendelle than just selling ice." Anna half-spoke half-laughed, to which Elsa joined in the laughter; the seriousness of the previous conversation forgotten.

"I just hope you and Kai know what you're putting that group through!" Anna joked.

"I just hope you know what Kristoff is going to be put through!" Elsa retaliated, almost smirking.

_Meanwhile…_

_"__So this is what Arendelle's military is like." _Kristoff thought to himself as he walked into the most common gathering place for the military; The Glacier.

The Glacier was a public house that opened literally a month after Elsa returned summer to Arendelle. It was a brand new, made entirely of grey stone brick with a fresh wooden roof painted royal blue. The Glacier had two floors, downstairs was the bar and tables for eating, and upstairs was where the family who owned the public house lived. It was impossible to look inside because the windows were made to look frosted over.

As soon as Kristoff entered, he had to duck to dodge a flying chair. The inside was lighted by torches on the walls, but right now Kristoff wished that the lights were off.

The Glacier was in chaos and a massive fight was happening. Four or more of the participants were evidently hammered and it didn't take long to figure out what had started the fight. There was broken glass all over the place, and liquid was all over the floor; spilled drink, chucked up drink, peed out drink. Whatever it was, it was alcohol in some shape or form.

Kristoff carefully made his way through the chaotic battleground the public house had become and eventually came across a man wearing a long, black leather coat with a high collar and a loose royal blue shirt, and black leather trousers that weren't baggy, nor were they ridiculously tight.

His hair was blackish-brown, short, spikey. His eyes were dark chocolate brown, and he had a stubble, with a slightly thicker moustache.

Kristoff approached the man when he slumped up against the wall, having been punched hard in the face by another drunken patron.

"Excuse me," Kristoff asked as the man slid down to the floor, still conscious. "Do you know where I could find the Commander of the Military?" He asked, hoping that the Commander would be a lot more dignified than this.

"Yeah…" Stated the drunken man, who attempted to get up only to fall on his arse again, and laughed, "Right here."

"You're the Commander!?" Kristoff gasped, almost horrified.

"Yep, Commander Killian of Arendelle's fine military." Killian gestured to the patrons drunkenly brawling in The Glacier. "What can I do for you?"

Kristoff stopped himself from gulping. "I'm here to form a scouting party…"

"Ah!" Interrupted Killian, finally standing up, albeit still wobbling on his legs unsteadily, "that makes you… Christopher?" Killian asked, gesturing to Kristoff with his green bottle.

"It's Kristoff!" Kristoff retorted.

Killian laughed. "Well, Kristoff, I think you and I will get along fine," He smiled, and then fell over trying to take a step towards Kristoff, though fortunately Kristoff caught him, "once I'm sober." Killian added, laughing once more.

Kristoff despaired. "_Why me?"_

_Meanwhile…_

The main hall of Elsa's Ice Palace was beautifully made. It was a wide open, round space with two stairs at the far end of the hall, one on each side, which led up to an indoor balcony of sorts that had two doors, behind the first of which was a hallway, and the second held behind it another case of stairs.

The Blackrock Clan of Orcs had, however, found a new use for the main hall.

The Blackrock Clan was one of seven Clans that had followed Teron Gorefiend through the Dark Portal into this snowy land, but they had done so without a Chieftain.

Now that they had a secure place in this world, they needed a Chieftain; and the main hall became their proving grounds.

The grey and green Orcs of the Blackrock Clan had gathered around, forming a ring in which two Orcs fought a duel to the death, as was the custom of those fighting for the title of Chieftain.

The two combatants, one a pure, healthy green, the other a sickly greenish-yellow, circled each other as the Orcs around them chanted barbarically.

The healthy green Orc, wearing nothing more than a helmet with two pairs of horns, a leather loincloth with a chain belt, a single shoulder guard and hide boots, swung at the other Orc with his hefty two-handed, double-headed axe. The sickly greenish-yellow Orc, wearing full hide trousers, fur boots and red plate armour that only covered half of his torso, managed to dodge the swing countered with a vertical strike from his own two-handed single-headed axe.

The main hall was silent as the axe ripped through the unfortunate Orc, through helmet and head right down through neck, chest and stomach, red spray following where the axe cut, only coming to a stop at the pelvis. When the axe was pulled out, blood spurted forth like a fountain for a few seconds before the body fell, colouring the ice red with blood.

The crowd of Orcs cheered whilst the victor roared with ferocious bloodlust. However, as the body was dragged away, another challenger stepped up.

This Orc was dark grey, the same grey as cobblestone streets at night. His hair was done in a messy Mohawk, and was black in colour. Unlike most Orcs, he wore full plate armour with leather straps, the pauldrons of which were each adorned with four massive, sharp spikes. The hulking armour was faded silver, trimmed faded gold, and he had a beard the same colour as his hair.

"Malkorok," the whispers went around the crowd, "managed to defeat The Backstabber in single combat…"

Malkorok pulled his massive, curved, two-handed sword off his back and pointed it at the previously victorious Orc, who almost let a whimper escape his mouth, but held it back. He would rather die than be forever branded a coward.

"Come then, Malkorok!" The Orc growled at the new challenger, "I shall show you how powerful I am! You will-"

"Enough talk!" Malkorok interrupted, "Let it be FINISHED!"

With that, Malkorok charged forward, curved blade above his head, roaring with brutal ferocity as the second Orc prepared to knock Malkorok flat with the flat of the axe...

Then the sword came down, and the Orc blinked… he wasn't dead… but he couldn't feel his right arm.  
Looking down at his arm, he saw that it was _gone. _Blood was spurting forth from the wound and the ice floor was red where his arm had fallen, the fingers still twitching. Before anyone could react, Malkorok's sword had come down again and severed his left arm. As the Orc gladiator's vision started to blur, Malkorok kicked him onto his back. He expected to feel a finishing blow, but no such thing came. Malkorok knelt next to the suffering Orc.

"I'm not going to end your suffering; I plan on prolonging it for as long as possible." Malkorok grinned and stood, looking at the silenced crowd. "This is how the Blackrock Clan is run now! I will not tolerate failure!" He announced. No one uttered a word, but instead the crowd parted for another challenger.

Before Malkorok stood an Orc glad in mystical armour-robes that could only belong to a Shaman.  
However, before Malkorok could point out that a Shaman was no match for a Warrior such as himself, the Shaman pulled out a weapon that made everyone gasp.

The Blackhand Doomsaw was in the grip of this Shaman, and Malkorok had to ask; "Who are you, Shaman?"

The Shaman smiled under the hood and visage of a skeletal deer or some such creature. "I am Blackhand, the last Blackhand, and so I go by the name of my father."

Malkorok, and all of the Blackrock Clan, were shocked. "But Blackhand only had three children…"

"You better learn how to count if you want to become Chieftain, Malkorok." Retorted the Shaman-Blackhand, "I am here to claim my rightful title through battle against its current holder, which would be you."

Malkorok smirked. "Then I will grant you a swift death, son of Blackhand!"

With that, Malkorok jumped into the air, sword in hand, and came crashing down onto the Shaman, who blocked the strike with the Doomsaw.

The sound of their weapons clashing against each other rang out through the palace, and soon it was more than just the Blackrock Clan gathered to watch the battle that would ultimately decide the new Chieftain of the Blackrock Clan.

Eventually, it happened.

Malkorok ran at Blackhand and lifted his sword, forgetting that Blackhand was a Shaman as well as a warrior. Soon, Malkorok found himself disarmed and on the floor with the Shaman-Warrior standing over him, but rather than surrender, Malkorok threw himself at Blackhand, who lunged the Doomsaw forwards.

Malkorok looked down at the blade that had pierced him, and then at the Shaman. "You… truly are… the son of Blackhand…" with a final breath, Malkorok slid off the blade with a sickening noise and hit the floor, staining it red.

There was silence, and then from somewhere in the crowd of the assembled clans the cry started; "All hail the new Chieftain of the Blackrock Clan! Blackhand the Last! Blackhand the Last!"

And soon all the Blackrock Clan and many of the other Clans had taken up the cry. "Blackhand the Last!"


	3. Capture

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Frozen or Warcraft, they're owned by Disney and Blizzard respectively etc.**

Kristoff sighed.

After having met Commander Killian Wave, Kristoff had met the other members of the scouting party, and right now they were headed towards the North Mountain, except they had had to stop for the night. It was the second day since they had left, and Kristoff could not stand anymore of Frothgar's stories.

Frothgar was the third man on this expedition alongside himself and Killian. He was a warrior who fancied himself a hero, and as such, had practised tales that he told around the campfire, and according to Killian, on a regular basis.

This particular story was about how 'The Mighty Frothgar' had defeated a dragon with naught but wit and good looks.

"I'll bet you ten copper that the dragon turns out to be a beautiful maiden." Whispered Ralof to Kristoff as Frothgar continued to tell the tall tale.

Ralof was the last companion, and, Kristoff figured, the sanest of the trio of military men. Kristoff got along well with Ralof, and these kinds of bets happened all the time on their journey. The thing about Frothgar's stories was that they were never the same twice, so they made bets about what would change or stay the same.

"You're on." Kristoff responded, and they shook on it. The sacred shaking of the hand was very important when making a bet.

"And then," the story continued, "the Mighty Frothgar forced the dragon into a lucid sleep with nothing but his sheer manliness!" Frothgar flexed to prove his point. Another thing about Frothgar was that he always referred to himself in the third person. "And, having defeated the powerful dragon, the Mighty Frothgar sneaked past and found the prison cell, where lay a beautiful maiden!"

Reluctantly, Ralof handed his ten copper over to Kristoff, which to be fair had been his at the start of this journey.

"Discovering her, the Mighty Frothgar saved the beautiful maiden, and then lay with her, before mysteriously disappearing to save the world of more dragons and other evil creatures! To this day, the beautiful maiden awaits the return of her Mighty Frothgar."

"So, to sum up," began Killian as was the usual routine. "You got really drunk, knocked out some old guy, discovered he had a beautiful daughter, and did what you do best; leave the next morning." Killian finished.

Ralof and Kristoff laughed together, especially when Frothgar began pouting. He hated it when Killian 'ruined his legends.'

"Why do you always pick on the Mighty Frothgar!?" Complained Frothgar.

"Because you're always referring to yourself in third person!" Replied Ralof.

It was a typical night for the scout team. Or so they thought.

After that, Kristoff was put on first watch for the night whilst the others slept. He was supposed to wake up Ralof in about two hours, but he rarely did; instead he usually stayed up thinking about Anna.

Kristoff and Anna had been spending a lot of time together, and it isn't that he wasn't satisfied; rather he wanted to take it a step further. He'd made plans to purchase (or ask Elsa for) a ring.

And then he'd pop the question.

As he was thinking about this for what must've been the umpteenth time on this mission, his ears perked up. His eyes darted around the darkness as his ears picked up on more noises; a rustle, a snap, _a breath._

He rolled out of the way as an axe came down; splitting the log he was sitting on clean in two.  
When he looked up at his assailant, it took him a moment to accept that this being existed. It was a woman, but she wasn't human; she had small tusks in her mouth and her skin was grey like steel. She didn't wear much at all; her legs were covered by red plate from what he could see in the dim light provided by the campfire, but her torso only had a chain-mail chest piece that ended halfway into the midriff and, because it was chain-mail, barely concealed her chest as it was.

Another swing of her axe and he managed to duck, but then she brought it crashing down and he barely avoided the blow by falling onto his backside, the axe coming down just inches away from his private parts.

Thankfully, Ralof was a light sleeper.

Soon a sword was coming towards the creature, which jumped back and met steel with steel, and she seemed to grin at the challenge.  
Unfortunately for Kristoff she was not alone, as he soon saw a throwing knife between his legs where the axe had been. Another creature similar to the female one, though male and wrapped in what could only be an assassin's garb, albeit still medieval, came out of the shadows with a ferocious roar and ran at Kristoff.

Kristoff, unfortunately, only had a pistol on him (a gift from Killian) so instead he dived forward into the assassin, who was clearly not expecting such a move, and knocked him flat. The assassin tried to stab him with one of his crude daggers, but Kristoff managed to hold him down. Mining ice for a living is not as easy as it sounds, and it does build up some strength and muscle, which he was now putting to use in a struggle for his life. What Kristoff wasn't expecting was for the assassin to be able to kick him off, and then hold him down with one hand whilst raising his dagger with the other.

But it didn't come down. Instead he heard something; a foreign language that was crude and barbaric, shouting. Reluctantly, the assassin lowered his dagger and hefted Kristoff up.

During the struggle for his own life he hadn't noticed what had happened to the rest of his scouting team. Captured, they'd all been captured.

There were five of these other creatures, two female and three male. Two of them, a male and a female, appeared as warriors. One of them was the steel-skinned female from before, the other was red-skinned with wild purple hair, wearing armour that appeared to be made from the bones of various creatures that he'd probably killed himself. Even his weapons – sharp claws fastened to his knuckles – seemed to be made from bone. The male holding him captive seemed to be the only one wearing assassin-type armour, though there was one other who wore similar to him; the other was another female, but, like the assassin, he couldn't see her skin or anything about her; her robes covered every part of her, much like an assassin's garb, though it seemed more… evil. She looked like something that you'd see in a stained-glass window in a church that depicted something to do with hell, or at least demons.

The apparent leader, however, was probably the most bizarre.

His skin was a healthy green colour, like leaves or grass or perhaps even cucumbers, but it was his attire that struck Kristoff most; on his head was the motif of a wolf, covering all but the mouth and chin below it; the wolf-motive was black with strange red markings on it, and the eye sockets glowed red. The shoulders were gold with a red-gold triangle pattern circling the centre of the shoulder-pieces, the centre itself being a dark blue-purple colour. He might've called it obsidian. Attached to each shoulder piece were two long branches, tied to each other with red cloth, and adorned at the top with stone half-moon shapes, each one with a red symbol on it.

The torso was red with a piece of gold in the middle of the chest, though Kristoff was not sure whether it was real gold or whether it was glowing that colour. The legs were covered by a robe with strange tribal patterns on it that he could only compare to things he had seen merchants bring with them from exotic places; Africa, the new lands of America and India.

Unlike the others, the leader had a sense of familiarity around him, but Kristoff decided that's because he knew what their leader was. Similarly dressed, and strange but powerful, men and women had been reported back by explorers who had come back from places deep in Africa and America.

They had called these people 'Shaman.'

POV CHANGE

"We're to take them alive!" Their 'leader' had shouted, right before she'd delivered the killing blow to the wretched human. Now she was looking at the Bleeding Hollow Shaman with a rage in her eyes; how dare he deny Zaela of the Dragonmaw her kill. "Take them _all _alive?! We do not have the food!" Was her argument, when in reality she didn't care; she just wanted to kill one of them.

"You and Krek'ga can hunt as you have been doing for the last two days." Countered the Bleeding Hollow Shaman, whom Zaela detested having to be ordered around by; the Bleeding Hollow shouldn't even be here; they were weaklings who still clung to the old ways of Shamanism. Unfortunately, Warchief Teron found use in the war veterans of the Bleeding Hollow, and so they stayed, despite the fact that these veterans were cowards who didn't want to die in the glory of battle.

Unfortunately, somewhere in her, she knew he was right about one thing; they were ordered to bring them alive, and she didn't fancy facing the wrath of Teron Gorefiend.

"If there are no more complaints," the Shaman asserted, "then we should get moving."

"As you wish, Rekvon," Jarok, the Twilight's Hammer Assassin, hefted the blonde human over his shoulder and the group started to travel back to their stronghold; the Ice Palace that had been in the mountains they had arrived at.

TIME SKIP AND POV CHANGE

"Psst," Ralof whispered to Kristoff, who was lying next to him, both of their hands and ankles tied together. "Psst! Kristoff, wake up!"

Ralof sighed. When Ralof joined the military, he did not expect to be fighting non-human barbarians. However, now, he had a plan to get out of here; and perhaps take these things to Arendelle.

"Kristoff!" Ralof whispered once more, though louder now.

"Quiet, Ralof, do you want to get us killed?" Replied Killian, agitated.

"I have a plan to get us out of here," Ralof murmured.

"What is it?"

"If I can get that stone near Kristoff's head," Ralof explained, "I can cut us loose, and we can jump our captors."

"Right," Killian nodded before taking advantage of the position the barbarians had thrown him in and kicking Kristoff in the head, "Kristoff!"

"What…?" Kristoff groaned in annoyance, not too happy about being woken up, "Can't a guy sleep in captivity…?"


	4. Blood

"I congratulate you on your success, Zaela." Most shivered at hearing his voice; Teron Gorefiend, first Death Knight Gul'Dan created. Once one of Gul'Dan's most faithful followers, an Orcish Warlock, now the spirit of an Orc in the body of a human soldier, which in itself had been… malformed by demonic powers. He was now something more than an Orc, something more than a Human.

Zaela, however, did not shiver. Above all else, she admired him; he was a true warrior, a true Warchief of the Horde. He had overcome the influence of Gul'Dan. He would lead the Horde to victory, at long last. "Most Orcs would say you abandoned the others, but you and I are alike it would seem. You saw it was more important to bring one of them back than it was to try and save the others; they were weak, and failed. They deserve the fate they were given."

Zaela nodded, grinning. She could not agree more with her Warchief; they were very much alike.

"You are… stronger." He took a step closer to her and seemed to be inspecting her, "I have a proposition for you." He stepped away again and looked out over the mountains; they were standing on a balcony. It was a small balcony with two big doors right behind them that, made of ice, became pink during sunrise and orange during sunset. She preferred the ice palace at night, when it was cold and dark and reminded her of Grim Batol.

"How would you like to become one of my… Warlords?" the Warchief casually strolled around her and back inside as he spoke, and she followed. "It's a new initiative that I have devised. The Warlords will be like the Chieftains, but completely loyal to me. They will have similar privileges to Chieftains, but may not usurp the Chieftains in command unless it is of my will. Don't want them to feel like they're not in control now, do we?" Zaela nodded in agreement; she also noted that Teron had started using words commonly used by humans since he'd become a death knight, complicating his speech for most. It's not that Orcs were not as clever, it's just that they had not needed to use these words before, or not often, yet Teron used them like they were as common as shouting 'Lok'tar Ogar' during battle.

"When you're not enforcing my will or, well, weeding out betrayers and rebels, you will be given special missions of your own, usually alone. To win a war, you must constantly be fighting, even when not in a battlefield." He turned to look at her again. "Well, what do you say? Do you wish to take up this opportunity of greatness?"

"Yes, Warchief!" Zaela almost roared it with enthusiasm; she was thrilled to be offered such a position.

"Good." Teron smiled. "Now, you shall be Warlord of the Dragonmaw Clan. I have a task for you already; try and find out more about this… 'Blackhand the Last'. I have… other business to attend to. Related to the prisoner."

…

Rekvon sat in the cold, dank cell, replaying the events in his head. They had been bested by humans using rocks. Every time he thought about the rocks, he laughed out loud. "Quiet, Rekvon. This is no time to be laughing." Krek'ga, the Bonechewer berserker, spat. His usually wild purple hair had been made damp and flat by the droplets of water that fell down from the ceiling.

Rekvon understood that Krek'ga's pride had been wounded; after all, they had been bested by humans with rocks. Rekvon laughed again, and Krek'ga banged the wall.

"Quiet!" One of the guards shouted. They had two guards, both men; one was a grizzly old veteran whom Rekvon had noticed carried some scars on him, and the other was a pale, young man. _Green,_ Rekvon thought to himself, _he's_ _never seen battle before._

It seemed curious to the old Shaman that these humans shared their language with the humans of Azeroth, the language that had been called 'common'. Perhaps the language was more common than he had first thought, seemingly crossing over worlds.

"The wizards at Dalaran would have a field day with this," Vakira thought aloud. Despite the fact that she was a Warlock, and a Blackrock at that, they seemed to have similar trains of thought. She often spoke with Rekvon in Common, seeing as they had both taken the time to learn it. The best most other Orcs could manage was Low Common.

"Indeed they would… "

All though they were all being kept in separate cells, they could still talk to each other. Rekvon was glad that Vakira had been placed in a cell next to him, though less grateful that Krek'ga was the other cell next to him.

"Um…" they both looked out. The pale human was speaking to them, for some reason. It was the first time he'd spoken since he'd been put on guard. "How come… you can speak English?"

_English, that's what they call it here… strange._ Rekvon shuffled a bit before he answered. "My companion and I took the time to learn it, human."

"So what's—"

"No speaking to the prisoners!" The elder guard said. Rekvon heard Vakira mutter disappointedly under her breath; she'd always wanted to speak to a human, find out how they work, what thoughts go through their heads. She was very inquisitive.

Suddenly, they heard the door open, and stamping footsteps. "Give me the keys!" The Shaman heard; a female voice.

"With all due respect, Princess A—"The elder guard started, but was quickly interrupted.

"Keys. Now! I demand to speak to the leader of these… things!"

Rekvon started to do what he always did when encountering new people; commune with the elements, find out what they thought, and how he should act. He had gotten better at communing with the elements here, and whilst at first they had been hostile to invaders, he was becoming friendlier with them.

_Elements… who is this woman, what does she want?_

_She is the sister of the Lady of Ice, gifted of the Elements. _Came the reply, causing Rekvon to blink, then stand.

_Is she, too, gifted?_

Before he got a reply, the cell to his door opened. His mind briefly remembered Krek'ga saying something, which was probably pointing him out to be the leader of the group. The woman entered; turquoise eyes, a hair colour the humans referred to as 'strawberry blonde' that could not be found among his own people, some of those human 'freckles'… she was still a fledgling, and yet Rekvon knew immediately what she wanted. The look in her eyes was one he'd seen before, a long time ago; the look of someone who'd lost their life-mate.

"Now, I don't know if you can speak English, but you better be able to answer my question; where have you taken Kristoff?!"

…

Screams. Music to his ears, is how he would think of screams. And this pathetic, blonde-haired human was no exception; in fact, his screams were a delightful sound he could not get enough of. "Come on now, you cannot succumb to unconsciousness just yet, human. We've just gotten started!" He brought out some red-hot iron tweezers that he used to remove certain things from his victims; teeth, hair, nails, fingers, toes. He even once tore off the nipple of an Ogre, now that was a sight you do not see every day.

"You know, despite your pathetic effeminate screaming, I must admit, you have substantially impressed me. Most other humans I have interrogated gave up the information I was attempting to acquire… around five minutes ago. You can take pride in the fact you have sustained your willpower five minutes longer than the average human! But now, we must break your mind."

Teron Gorefiend approached the human with the tweezers lightly tapping his forehead, causing it to burn and steam to rise, and another delicious scream. "Ah, marvellous. Let us start with a simpler question then, yes? Your name, human, you can at least divulge that."

"It's…" he croaked out, barely holding on, "Kristoff…"

Teron grinned in delight. It was a trick he had taken from the mind of the human body he possessed; if one can get someone to agree to smaller tasks, they are more likely to agree to bigger ones. He nodded to the Shaman who watched nearby, wearing a wolf pelt-cowl that hid his eyes. Perhaps that was for the best; it was better that Teron did not see the disgust and horror in the eyes of this Shaman.

He lifted his hands and healed Kristoff of any wounds that Teron had given him thus far. "See? Answers get you rewards! Now that we have a mutual understanding, I shall ask you again; where did you come from?"

"I'm not… telling you…"Kristoff barely coughed out.

Teron sighed.

After another half an hour of screaming that echoed throughout the castle before Teron let up again. "Now, wasn't that just excruciatingly painful? It was entirely unnecessary for you to have to endure that pain… all you have to do is talk."

"N…Never…"

Teron's eyes lit up; this kind of conviction he had seen before… this human must have something precious to protect. What they called 'love'. It was a force he did not understand, nor had believed existed until he'd fought Turalyon, one of the greatest Paladins the humans had offered him to slaughter… the only difference was, Turalyon yet lived.

Kristoff noticed a new glee in the eyes of this demonic creature, suddenly confused. "What… what is it…?"

"Kristoff, Kristoff… why did you not tell me? I must congratulate you on finding a life-mate! Who would have thought that any woman worth her hunt would ever kindle the spark of a relationship with a pathetic, green boy such as yourself! So, tell me all about it, what's the unlucky woman's name?"

"You'll never—"

"Fine," Teron interrupted, "you leave me no choice." He removed one of the chain gloves from his hands, showing the ash-coloured skin underneath. "Now… what I am about to do will most probably leave you in a vegetative state. If it does not, then I will allow you the mercy of death… if it does, then you have already ascended to a state worse than death itself." He forcibly pushed his hand onto Kristoff's forehead, a loud scream left him that echoed throughout the mountains.

Eventually, Teron pulled his hand away, quite satisfied with the information he had gained. These humans had no magic resistance whatsoever, so pulling the thoughts from his mind was simple enough. _Arendelle… not too far from here. Good. We need sacrifices for the Legion… and Anna… my my, it seems this human body's tastes are not too dissimilar to Kristoff's. Yes, I can see why he likes her through these eyes… _

However, to his surprise, Kristoff coughed and his eyes opened. "Well, by the Legion, you're not a vegetable!"

"Well… get on with it… you said that you would kill me… just make it quick…" Kristoff braced himself, then he heard the cruel laughter of this evil creature.

"Yes, I will kill you… but not yet." He looked right into the human's eyes with his own, eerie yellow ones. "When Arendelle is in ashes, and Anna is my life-mate, then you have my permission to die." He then knocked Kristoff out and walked away. _I swear I've heard that somewhere before…_

* * *

Well, this has taken a while.

So I write this here because the last two chapters and this one were all uploaded ON THE SAME DAY! You may have noticed a slight difference in writing style between them... because they were all written on different days. And yes, a Dark Knight Rises quote over there. Whoop-dee-do.

Yes, I will update these... um, semi-regularly now. I mean, nothing this week will happen because I have a craptonne of work to do, but once that's over then it's back to being careless and free until University- anyway. This chapter was originally going to encompass what you'll see in the next chapter but I felt it was too long, so you have THAT to look forward to.

Peace.

...

Also, FateFinal Shock will probably be getting an update if I can read it without cringing.

But screw Whispers in the Dark.

FOLLOW AND FAVE AND REVIEW AND ALL THAT


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